


Memory of Touch

by I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins



Series: The Way of Thedas one shots [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Light Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins
Summary: After Nesiara is murdered by Vaughan, Maroth Tabris escapes to The Brecilian Forest. He finds comfort in the arms of apostate mage, Aneirin, but the memories of his wife and daughter still haunt him."He can still feel her. Her soft skin sliding against his. The way her hair felt in his hands, smelling of rose water and honeysuckle. Her memory is a ghost he cannot shake, his guilt the strings that bind her close, even in death."Light smut at the end





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is part of the series "The Forgotten Bard Tales". It takes place prior to "What Has Been Wrought" and after "A Smuggler's Chant".

Aneirin's arms are sturdy, warm, wrapped around Maroth's taller, willowy frame. He smells like the forest, wet and earthy. An owl hoots in the distance, a soft cry that breaks the silence of the night. 

Nessy's face is a clear image in his mind, her eyes empty and body covered in blood. Maroth closes his eyes, shutting out the tears threatening to fall. He can still feel her. Her soft skin sliding against his. The way her hair felt in his hands, smelling of rose water and honeysuckle. Her memory is a ghost he cannot shake, his guilt the strings that bind her close, even in death.

He failed her. If he hadn't been a thief, if he had worked the honest job she wanted... Would she still be alive? 

Maroth knows the answer. He tries to reconcile that he was desperate, hungry. And in part, it's true. The meager earnings he had made at the docks was barely enough to buy rotten vegetables. 

But Maroth had been greedy. He wanted more and more, taking and taking until he had earned the moniker of  _The Dark Wolf._ The infamy had gone to his head. 

Aneirin stirs in his arms, his eyelashes fluttering against Maroth's bare chest. "You're still awake?" Aneirin asks, stifling a yawn. "I set wards. We're safe enough here, near the Dalish camp."

Maroth sighs, a slow breath of air between his lips as he looks up at the crescent moon. "Couldn't sleep, yeah?"

Aneirin turns his head, resting his pointy chin against Maroth's chest. "What is it?"

"Worried, s'all. I just wonder if that dalish girl got Lala away. S'my fault she was in danger, right?" Images of his daughter's crying face flood his mind, her voice raised in loud, hiccuping sobs as Merrill carried her away. She'd be safe with that clan, right? Just another elf, blending in. So long as he stayed away, Lialah would be safe.

The elven mage leans up on his elbow, fingers brushing aside Maroth's long, thick hair. "I won't tell you it wasn't your fault," Aneirin says, voice cautious. "I wasn't there. But I'm sure she's fine. We can ask Zathrian to send an envoy? Someone to see if the other clan made it somewhere."

"No," Maroth says, sitting up abruptly. "I don't want any contact. Ever. S'not safe."

Aneirin opens his mouth but Maroth leans forward hurriedly, pressing their lips close together. He grips Aneirin by the back of the head, long fingers tangling in the orange-red strands of hair. Maroth slips in his tongue, eliciting a moan from his lover's throat. 

"Maroth," Aneirin breathes, pulling back. "You should talk about what's-"

Maroth shakes his head firmly, pulling Aneirin close again. "No. This is better. I can forget her when I kiss you," he replies,nipping at the mage's lower lip. "I can't feel 'er arms when ya touch me."

Aneirin's tongue darts out, wetting his lips. His eyes darken for a moment before he growls low his throat, returning the kiss with a vehement passion. His fingers slide across Maroth's skin, brushing against his hardened nipples.

Maroth tilts his head back, moaning into the night air. "More," he whispers. "Aneirin."

The mage obliges, bending his head and pressing a kiss against the bulge in Maroth's leggings. He swirls his tongue around the raised bit of cloth. Maroth trembles at the contact, fingers curling into the dirt.

The night air is cool against his skin as Aneirin pulls his leggings down, his erection softening slightly in the sudden change of temperature. Aneirin clucks his tongue before flicking it across the head. Maroth sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as the mage takes the length in his mouth, hardening almost instantly.

"Shite," Maroth whispers. "Fuckin' shite."

He bites back another moan, aware of Zathrian's clan camped nearby. He closes his eyes as Aneirin continues licking and teasing his cock. He forgets the way Nesiara smiled, her golden eyes lighting up. He forgets the sound of her laugh and the words to the chantry songs she used to sing. 

As stars explode across his vision, his orgasm bursting through his body, he even forgets the way she felt against his skin.

 


End file.
